Monday, September 15, 2008

Night Rainbows

When Mother asks him where he’s been, he’ll tell herhe was busy stealing lightning from a lightning bug.

His fingers will fidget, fumbling anxiously, tryingto keep the light from escaping and she will tell him thatit’s not nice to steal. In turn, he will try to retracthis response or explain, while the colors refractff his palm and just lay waiting restless under glass,

anticipating the innocent removal of his hand,the magician's great reveal that allows them to escape (althoughno one expects it, colors can be quite clever and conniving, too).

With disappointment, Mom will look at him—no wordsare necessary with that glare the way she does it—and he’ll try and try to verbalize the sheer divinesplendor of the epic arc of pigment, spilling every shadeand every hue of every color ever known, that had sprungup from the same creek where he had once held court. Buthe knows she’ll never listen, so he’ll just let the colors gobefore he even gets home and then tell herhe was busy stealing lightning from a lightning bugand let it go.